A Present Look at the Past Christmases
by Jimmy Candlestick
Summary: It's basically present retellings of some of the 'Ghost of Christmas Past' stories. I couldn't leave them quite alone. Death fic in the first story.
1. Chapter 1

**This is...another collection of Christmas stories. It's actually some of the same stories as in Ghost, but in a present tense. **

* * *

The pretty, blond haired woman gently laid her hand on the man's forehead. His dark brown hair was matted to his sweaty head, and his normally clear gray eyes were dulled by the fever.

"Oh, honey. You're so hot! Let me get the thermometer." She ran off, leaving the sick man to groan pitifully.

In a few seconds she was back, placing the small plastic stick in his mouth. After a few minutes, she took it out and checked the reading, frowning at what she saw. "Looks like you won't be able to get out of bed today. Maybe by tomorrow you'll feel better. It could only be a twenty-four hour bug, you know."

The man mumbled something.

"What is that, Peter?" she asked, a little smile playing on her face.

"I said: it'll be one lousy Christmas if I'm not," the young scientist announced.

Mary grinned. "You can say that again. Here, let me get you some wet cloths." She turned and flounced out of the room.

Peter Tezla smiled at her bouncy nature, quickly falling back to sleep.

When he woke up a few hours later, he was pushing the covers off, trying to relieve some of the heat. A swishing sound came nearer to his side, and Mary was soon pushing the covers back up.

"No, Peter, you need to keep warm."

"Why?" he mumbled. Then he caught sight of the party dress she was wearing. "Why are you wearing that?"

"What? Oh, this." She blushed slightly. "Well, I was planning on going to the Christmas party we were invited too, but since you're so sick…I'm rethinking that."

Peter shifted slightly, blinking away his sleepiness. "What? No, you can't just not go on my account! Don't let a sicky like me keep you back!"

Mary smiled at him. "And if you get worse?"

Peter smiled back. "I won't. I promise. You go have fun!"

His young wife bit her lip thoughtfully. Finally, she said. "Let me check your temperature one more time, and then I'll decide."

Peter watched her leave the room and then listened for her returning footsteps. He hated being sick. Especially during the holidays. Especially during Christmas. And, he didn't particularly want to keep Mary back from enjoying herself. She so loved Christmas parties, he hated to be a wet blanket.

The swishing of her dress interrupted her thoughts and a thermometer was soon thrust into his mouth. After a few minutes, she pulled it out and checked it.

"Well?" Peter asked when she said nothing for a moment.

"Hm? Oh, it's lower." She answered.

"Then go! Don't let me spoil your evening." Peter said, sitting up.

"I don't know…" Mary bit her lip, and put her finger to her chin.

"Listen, it's not like I can do anything to make it worse! Come on, honey. Just go! I'll survive. If just barely." Peter smiled encouragingly at her.

His young wife smiled a bit, then said. "All right. I'll go. If it'll make you so happy."

"I'm never happy enough without you. But, I'll try to manage."

Mary giggled and kissed him good-bye. "I love you Peter."

Peter smiled back. "I love you too."

Peter woke with a start. The doorbell was ringing, and his first thought was that Mary forgot the keys to the house. She had done that once, and they both had a good laugh from it. He looked up at the clock on the wall, which he could barely make out.

The doorbell rang again, followed by loud knocking.

With a grimace, Peter rose and walked out to the door, still aching with a slight fever. The clock in the kitchen said 12 O'clock, and panic rose slightly when he realized that Mary wasn't in bed when he woke. But he swiftly reminded himself of his earlier thoughts. It could very well be Mary.

Not without hesitation, the young scientist opened the door. It was with shocked silence that he greeted the police officers at the door. Finally, he said, "Can I help you?"

One of the officers, an older man, smiled gently and nodded. "Are you Peter Tezla?"

Peter gulped and nodded.

"May we come in?"

Again, he just nodded. Motioning them to sit down, they politely declined, but Peter sat anyway.

After a moment of silence, the officer said. "I'm sorry sir, but we need you to come down the city morgue."

"The morgue? Why?" Peter felt he knew the answer, but he couldn't bear to say it.

"We believe your wife Mary was in a car accident this evening. We need you to come over and confirm the body."

Numbly, Peter Tezla nodded and excused himself to get dressed. He quietly followed them out, and in a few minutes, they were in the morgue.

On a table not far away, a body lay, covered with a sheet.

Peter looked over his shoulder at the mortician, who was standing nearby. The man nodded, a sympathetic look on his face.

Taking a deep breath, Peter slowly lifted the sheet away from the head. Reverently, he folded it back and studied the face. It was Mary. Unable to contain himself, Peter collapsed into a sobbing heap, the emotions answering the officer's inquiry.

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**I know...it ended suddenly. But, should that keep you from reviewing? -Jimmy**


	2. Chapter 2

**I thought this one would be a breeze. I was wrong. It took me forever! It's 2,347 words. A record for me in a one-shot like story. **

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The small, black-haired boy clung eagerly to the small concrete wall that separated the pit crew from the track. The opening not far from him was crammed with pit crew members ready to dash out after the next lap. The boy's brother, Kurt Wylde, was currently about ten places from the lead in a Grand Prix race. But, that didn't matter to Markie. He knew that when the time was right, Kurt was going to make his move and take first.

The eleven year-old smiled happily as the cars screamed passed the pit once more before they would come in for their regular pit stops. Markie was happiest when he was just with Kurt, especially since their parents had died a year before, and it was even better when he got to watch his brother in a race-from the pit!

Not far from him, the crew chief was conveying instructions and advice to Kurt via headset, but Markie was too far away to hear what all was being said. He turned around to watch the screen, noting with slight satisfaction that Kurt was moving up a bit. Something clanked to the ground nearby, drawing his attention away from the race for a few seconds. But his attention was back on the cars all too soon when the loud screeching of tires, and the painful crunch of metal was heard from the track.

Something-Markie wasn't sure what-happened to one of the cars and several were now bunched up together all across the track. A few were flipping away from the pile-up, and the whine of sirens announced the emergency vehicles racing down the track towards the mess.

It was all smoke and scratched pain, a few flames licking up here and there from beneath different cars. Markie searched desperately for Kurt's car, and finally managed to catch a glimpse of it behind another's spinning wheels. Most of the drivers were able to stagger out of their machines by themselves, but a few other's needed assistance.

The crew chief was calling Kurt on the radio, just in case he could get through.

Markie raced up to the man and tugged urgently on his sleeve. "Is he answering? Is he okay?"

The chief looked down to the anxious face and hesitated. Then said, "Markie, I need you to calm down. Kurt's not answering, but that could be because his radio got smashed. Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be fine."

Markie couldn't stand not knowing. Without waiting for anymore news he dashed out of the pit. But before he could get far, two sets of strong arms pulled him back. "Whoa! You can't go near that crash sight." The voice belonged to Phil, one of the mechanics.

"But I have to see if Kurt's okay!" Markie screamed.

"The medics will do that. All we can do is sit tight and wait for the area to be cleared up."

With tears streaming down his face, and slumped shoulders, Markie dejectedly followed them back. They sat him on a metal folding chair as they all awaited the news.

Presently, the deep whirring of helicopter blades could be heard, and they all looked skyward in time to see a long medical helicopter hover above the wall. The massive machine landed amid a whirlwind created by it's own engine and blades. Several people with three stretchers poured out and dispersed among the vehicles.

Markie quickly stood up and got as far from the rest of the crew as he dared to watch for his brother. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't tell who the three drivers were that had been placed on the stretchers. Two had black hair, and the third was a blond, which only eliminated one driver.

Most of the other team's drivers still hadn't made contact with the others anyway, so Markie tried to keep calm and remind himself that Kurt could just be in the stadium's clinic. But, that wasn't working.

As soon as the helicopter took off, a race official could be seen going from pit crew to pit crew, informing the teams where their drivers were, and how badly they were injured-if at all. Another official was making his way to only three of the crews. He was apparently in charge of telling the teams that their driver had been sent with the helicopter.

Markie watched him approach two crews, and saw their faces fall. The news was really bad, it seemed, and the young boy was fervently hoping that Kurt wasn't one of the drivers. Sadly, the official was coming to them.

Frightened, Markie shrunk back to his seat, letting the crew chief handle it. The older man smiled encouragingly to the boy before turning to the official. In the few minutes that the men conversed, Markie sunk deeper and deeper into anxiety. First, his parents. Now, his brother. He wasn't sure what he was going to do. He was scared out of his wits, and sky suddenly became dark and cloudy, and everyone looked sinister.

Pulling his knees up, he wrapped his arms around his legs and waited.

He didn't wait long. The Chief, as everyone called him, walked over and gently placed a hand on the boys shoulder. "He told me what hospital Kurt was placed in. Because of the number of wrecked cars, the race won't be finished, so I'll take you right over."

Numbly, Markie followed, not knowing what else to do.

The ride was long and silent, traffic was slow, and both of the car's occupants were worried. The radio played softly, but neither of them paid heed.

It took them an hour to reach the hospital, and by the time they arrived, Kurt had already gone through surgery-succesfully-and was transferred to a room in ICU. There was an older doctor just exiting the room and when he caught sight of Markie and the Chief, he stopped the latter to talk. The Chief silently motioned for Markie to go on, an order the boy silently obeyed.

A middle-ages nurse was jotting down notes in her clipboard when he entered. She smiled at him, but he was only vaguely aware of her. She silently left the room, allowing him to have some time alone with his brother.

All of the wires and machines intimidated him, and he suddenly wished that the nurse hadn't actually left, just so he could have someone who could explain all of the to him.

Carefully, Markie climbed onto the bed next to his older brother. Kurt's hand was lying still next to him, and Markie grasped it with Kurt's. The latter's hand hopelessly engulfed the former's, but that didn't really matter. Markie leaned close, saying in such a quiet voice, "Don't die, Kurt…it's not even Christmas yet."

After a few minutes, heavy footsteps were heard coming through the door.

Markie looked up to see the Chief walk in, his little face full of hope. The hope disappeared as soon as he saw the look on the man's face.

"Markie," he began, taking a seat. "Look..." he bit his lip, obviously not sure on how to continue. With a heavy sigh, he continued, making up his mind on how. "Markie, your brother's in a coma. You know what that is, right?"

Markie nodded numbly.

"So, they don't know if he'll live or not." The Chief paused, letting it sink in.

Markie was obviously trying to keep control of his emotions, but it didn't work. He couldn't help himself. He burst into sobs and threw himself into the Chief's arms. The Chief couldn't do anything except hold the crying boy.

* * *

The blond man hesitated at the door. The nurse gave him an encouraging nod, but this only resulted in one step in. On the bed ahead of him lay his best friend, and teammate, in a coma. On a chair not far away, a small figure with mussed black hair was his teammate's younger brother.

Dan Dresdan sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He was in California yesterday, when one of the crew members called, telling him about the accident. He took the next plane out and flew all night. The night was rough-and not because of turbulence. Dan had known Kurt pretty much since they were born. They grew up best friends, and became teammates on the same team for F-1 racing. Now, with Kurt in a coma, Dan was, quite frankly, scared.

Dan quietly made his way to the couch where Markie lay sleeping. Sitting down, Dan first looked at Kurt, than turned his gaze on the still figure next to him. Even though he was asleep, Markie looked awful. He had obviously done a lot of crying, and very little sleeping. The young man guessed that exhaustion had brought that upon the boy.

Suddenly, the small figured stirred. A small whimper was let out from Markie's lips, and Dan instinctively reached down to rub the boy's back, gently bringing him to full wakefulness.

Cracking open his eyes, Markie looked up. When he recognized who it was, he quickly sat up and hugged Dan. The driver did the same, wrapping his arms around the sniffling boy.

"Dan?" Markie mumbled into the man's shirt.

"Yeah?"

"Is he gonna be okay?" Markie turned his head to look at Kurt.

Dan was silent for a moment. He had been told the situation, and knew Kurt's chances-which were slim. However, the look in Markie's eyes…so hopefull…Dan lied. "Yeah. Yeah, he'll be fine."

Slightly comforted, Markie went leaned back onto Dan, and was soon sleeping.

* * *

Markie slowly ate the fry from McDonalds. Dan had run out for some dinner, and came back with the boy's favorite fast good. Markie managed a small smile and quiet thanks, but Dan could still tell that Markie didn't really feel like eating. He hadn't felt like that for the past two weeks.

Dan was watching the boy from only a few feet away. "Markie, maybe you should come to the hotel with me. Get some rest."

Markie shook his head stubbornly.

Almost everyday, Dan had said the same thing. And everyday, Markie refused. Dan had been surprised at first that the hospital staff hadn't insisted that he leave. But, they apparently didn't have heart too. It seemed that everyone but Markie had accepted that Kurt was most likely going to die. And while they all hated to admit it, it was true. Kurt's injuries had been severe, and the head trauma was incredible. Even if he did wake up, they didn't know if he was going to be mentally ill for the rest of his life or not because of the trauma.

"Markie," Dan tried again, "I know you want to be here when Kurt wakes up. But, you need to face the truth. We don't know if he will ever wake up. In fact, he probably won't."

Markie glared at him. "Yes, he will."

"Oh? And how do you know this?" Dan was getting frustrated. He was still have a hard time believing that Kurt was most likely going to die.

"Because I prayed." Markie answered defiantly.

"That so? Well then, if you're so sure God's going to answer your prayer, why didn't you pray during the race?"

Markie turned away. He didn't have an answer to that.

Dan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he said, calming down considerably. "But, I don't like the idea of Kurt dying any more than you do. I'm going back to the hotel. Because it's Christmas Eve, I'm gonna let you stay here one more night. Tomorrow, however, you're coming with me no matter what. Got that?"

Markie looked at him with tears running down his face, making Dan wince inwardly, and miserably nodded.

"Alright. G'night." Dan left, giving the boy a little side-hug before leaving.

A few hours later, the nurse came around for her nightly check. Walking in the door, Markie noticed that she held a pillow and a blanket. Dan must've informed them that Markie was still going to be sleeping that night. With a friendly smile, she handed him the simple bedding, and then began checking Kurt's vitals.

While she was doing this, Markie set up the pillow, and wrapped himself up in the blanket. Laying down, he closed his eyes and feigned sleep. But as soon as she left the room, Markie got up and crawled onto the bed with Kurt.

He gently laid his head on Kurt's chest and soon found the sound of Kurt's beating heart. While the constant thumping lulled him to sleep, he sent one more prayer up to heaven that night. One of his lasts thoughts before slipping off into sleep, was that the nurse would come in any moment to shoo him off the bed.

Something moved. At first, Markie sleepily thought it was an earthquake, but he couldn't remember hearing about any faults near the area, and the movement was too gentle. Then an arm lifted next to him, and a hand rested on his back. This was odd. Markie blinked open his eyes and soon realized where he was. The hand moved, and his brother's body beneath him also stirred.

Markie's eyes widened, and he sat up slightly and looked towards his brother's face. To his utter delight, Kurt's own eyes, though a little confused, looked back. A wide grin split across his face, and Markie just about shouted, "Kurt!"

Kurt smiled back. "Hey, Markie. Please don't shout."

Markie laughed. "Sorry."

The door opened, and the brother's looked up to see an astonished nurse standing in the doorway. Soon, she was smiling too and rushing off to get the doctor.

Kurt groaned and laid his head back down. "A hospital? Great. Oh what joy. How long have I been in here?"

Markie laughed again, and sat up. "Two weeks."

"What?" Kurt looked up again.

"Merry Christmas, Kurt."

* * *

**There ya go. It has come to my attention that it will take me quite some time to finish this story. So, though it _is_ a Christmas story, it'll be going beyond that. Oh well. Merry Christmas, if I don't update before then. Oh yeah, review please.-Jimmy**


	3. Chapter 3

**What ho! 'Nother death fic. Sorry. Merry Christmas!**

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Deezel Riggs leaned eagerly over the side of the boat, watching the grey water part ways and spray up. The boy was five and a little big for his age, being a few inches taller than his classmates, and a few pounds heavier. This was no surprise, since his father was 6'8" himself. The whole Riggs family was actually a generally large family, pretty much always towering over their friends, neighbors, and just about anyone they came in contact with.

"Deez, sit down. I don't want you to fall," his father, Donny, cautioned.

The boy sighed and sullenly obeyed as the wind played with his red hair. Deezel, who was often called Porkchop by his older brothers and cousins, looked up at his dad, who was piloting the small fishing boat. His father had red hair identical to his own, and a body build that denoted his position as a former wrestler. Now, he was the local sheriff, and proud of it.

After a few minutes, the boat slowed, and the engine was cut. They were in the middle of the lake, all alone.

Deezel and his dad sat back in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the cool, crisp air. Surrounding the lake were tall hills covered with evergreens. It was Christmas Eve and snow covered much of it, frosting the world in its lovely whiteness. Around the beaches, thin ice could be seen covering the water's surface, before disappearing a few feet away from land.

"So, what do you think the baby will be?" Donny asked.

Deezel beamed. He loved the thought of being an older brother. "A girl!"

Donny laughed, somewhat surprised. "Oh? Why?"

The boy's faced scrunched up in concentration. "I dunno. I'm just tired of brothers, I guess."

Donny's only response was to laugh.

Slightly embarrassed, Deezel walked over to the edge of the boat. "Hey, Dad. Are there any fish in the lake?"

Donny calmed down a bit. "Yeah. I'm sure there are. They're probably just down near the bottom."

Deezel's eyes widened. "Really?"

Excited, the boy leaned farther and farther over the side of the boat. A little too far.

The last thing he heard before the splash his own body made when he hit the water, was his father crying, "DEEZEL!"

Then the splash came, and so did intense cold. Deezel felt as if a thousand knives were piercing his body, and in a panic and started thrashing. He didn't know how to swim, and he couldn't hold his breath any longer. Water started pouring in his mouth and nostrils as he watched the air bubbles rush towards the surface.

He looked up, hoping to get closer, but the light was dimming, not brightening. Slowly, his senses started numbing, and he was barely aware of the dark shape that darted in front of him.

Suddenly, he was being pushed upward, and the light grew. He was above water, now, coughing up that which he had swallowed. Raising his leaden limbs, he just barely climbed into the boat while large hands were pushing him up. When he made it into the boat, he was gasping for air, and shivering uncontrollably. His dad had saved him. In a few minutes, he would join Deezel, and everything would be alright.

It wasn't long before the boy realized that his father wasn't climbing back onto the boat with him.

"Dad?" He timidly called, slowly rising.

Silence.

"Daddy?!" Deezel dashed to the side of the boat, and saw nothing. He rushed to the other side, and still saw nothing. Like a punch to the stomach, he came to the realization that his dad didn't come back aboard.

Sitting there, the boy cried and shivered, not sure of what to do. Thoughts kept on rushing through his head, making no sense, coming in no order. They were mostly of his father, and what wasn't, Deezel couldn't make sense of. He just sat in the middle of the boat weeping and shivering. When the tears stopped, so did the thoughts. The boy just sat and waited. But for what, he didn't know.

Hours passed, and the sun was setting when another boat came up. However, Deezel made no move to see who it was. His eyes were glazed over, and he had stopped shivering long ago. He was only vaguely aware of the engine stopping, and a voice talking to him.

His own boat rocked as another came aboard.

"Son?" A voice said.

Deezel didn't stir.

A hand touched him. A gasp was heard. "Ralph? We need to get this boy to a hospital. No tellin' how long he's been out here."

It was another few hours before Deezel came back to his senses, and was able to tell what happened. The boy was so traumatized, though. He would contradict his story, and say it was a dream, or just sullenly sit there, unaware of movement around him.

Days later, the body was found.

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**There, review?**


	4. Chapter 4

**This one is really short. A little over 600 words. But, I think it may be enjoyable still.**

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The nine year old boy looked intensely at the engine of Ms. Lawson's Ford Mustang. He had just finished working on it, Ms. Lawson was having trouble with it earlier, and was just looking over it to make sure nothing else was wrong. Satisfied with his own work, Mitchell Smith slammed the hood shut and turned to the woman behind him.

"There you go, Ms. Lawson. It should work fine now," the boy announced happily.

The smiling, young woman ruffled his red hair. "Thanks, Mitch. This is so helpful!"

Mitch blushed and ducked his head. He was a shy type, though he was…the _loud,_ shy type. Though his compliments came more often than not, they still managed to embarrass him. They usually came after Mitch did some work on a car. Why he liked cars, he didn't know. But, it kept him interested and busy.

As he was leaving the garage, another boy ran up. "Hey, Mitch! Mr. Gregory wants to see you in the office!"

Mitch nodded and headed in that direction. Mr. Gregory was the orphanage director, and normally called kids up to the office if they were in trouble. Sometimes, it was to discuss a family that had visited earlier. It was early December, and Mitch suddenly remembered a family named McClurg that had come a few weeks before, and then added some more visits after that. Mitch really liked that family, and was now desperately hoping they were the reason Mr. Gregory wished to talk with him.

These hopeful thoughts quickened his pace. The McClurgs had much in common with the boy, mostly the car thing. They were a happy family, and they had a few quirks, but they were lovable quirks.

Lunch was being prepared as he walked through the large kitchen. Waving at the cook, he hastily pushed open the great room's door. Up the stairs, he passed a few of the older kids, entered the upstairs hall and headed for the first door on the left. Mitch hesitated slightly, his hand on the door knob, looking at the director's name on the frosted glass window. Taking a deep breath, he entered.

"Mr. Gregory?" he said timidly.

The kindly older man smiled and waved him forward. "Hello, Mitchell. I wanted to have a small talk with you."

Mitch shut the door quietly behind him and took a seat across from the director. "Did I do something wrong, Mr. Gregory?" he asked, his previous hesitations still present.

Mr. Gregory chuckled good-naturedly. "No, no. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the McClurgs."

"Oh." Mitch's face brightened.

"What do you think about them?"

"What do I think? Umm…well I really like them." Mitch blushed.

"Why?"

"Uh…I dunno. 'Cuz we have a lot in common?" Mitch said uncertainly.

Mr. Gregory chuckled again. "Is that all?"

Mitch squirmed. "Well…I dunno. I guess its part of it."

"But, not all of it."

"No."

"So, you don't quite know why you like them?"

"No," Mitch said miserably.

"Alright. Thank you. You may go have lunch now, Mitch."

Mitch mumbled his thanks and quickly exited the room.

* * *

Mitch rushed up stairs and made sure all of his things were in order. He didn't have much, but he was still making sure. Today was Christmas Eve, and in a few hours, he was going to be picked up by his new family.

The interview with Mr. Gregory a few weeks before had been deceptive. It went way better than Mitch first thought. And now, he was going to live with the McClurgs.

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**There ya go. About one more chapter and this one is done with. -Jimmy**


	5. Chapter 5

**Here is the last installment of this series. I believe, anyway. I know, it's like...three weeks after Christmas, but, here it is. Enjoy! Oh, don't forget, this is in Mexico. So, when I say football, I mean soccer.**

* * *

Nolo walked happily next to his older brother, Tone, on his way to the football field. The black and white ball was tucked under his arm as they passed approached the field where their friends were waiting, shouting in Spanish at them. It had been raining all week, and the neighborhood kids had quickly decided that it was game day when the rain stopped. Even though it was muddy, who cared! The game was practically their way of living.

Grinning, both of the boys quickened their pace and hastened to the dilapidated field. It was Christmas Eve, so many of the kids were also running late. But that didn't really matter; they'd start at any time as long as they had light. And they had plenty of it left.

Twenty to twenty-five kids had gathered around the field, which was full off muddy patches and puddles. The captains, Tone and a kid named Pedro, were picked, along with two referees for the game. Soon, the teams were being picked, and Nolo was beyond delighted when Tone called his name.

Once each kid was assigned a team they separated to huddle. It made an interesting sight to see them all in circles, since the ages and sized varied so much. They ranged in ages from twelve the seventeen, Tone and Pedro, both going on eighteen, being the oldest, and Nolo among the younger players.

Tone assigned positions, ending with Nolo. "…Nolo, you get goalie."

"_Que_?!" Susana exclaimed loudly. After much shushing, she continued. "But, he's so small! He's better at mid-field."

The other kids mumbled their agreements.

True, Nolo, at twelve years old, was smaller than most kids his age, and goalie was a hard position for him.

Tone sighed. "Look, it's just a game. I know you want to win, so do I. But, I felt like giving him that position, and giving Alonzo a shot at Nolo's usual position. C'mon, it's Christmas Eve, let's just have fun. We have a good defense anyway, so it shouldn't be too hard."

Some of the kids were still grumbling, but they consented with the decision and ran off to their starting points.

As Nolo walked to his, he gave a thankful look to his brother. He'd been having trouble breathing after light runs lately, and wasn't sure why. Tone was right; they did have a good defensive team. Hopefully, that would mean Nolo wouldn't have as much to do as normal. And that's exactly what happened.

One of the "refs" had a watch to check the time throughout the game.

During the first half, things went quite well for their team. After the coin toss, the opposite team got the kick-off, but defense acted well and Nolo only had to block a few shots, though a few also went in. However, Nolo was happy to see that his team scored more often than their opponents. Soon, the first half was through, and the teams took a break for a few minutes.

Tone sat next to Nolo and lowered his voice. "How're you feeling?"

"_Bueno_. Do you think I could go back to mid-fielding? I haven't had any trouble at all."

Tone leaned back. "Actually, I might put you in a center field position. Susana's complaining about her ankle and actually requested to switch places."

Nolo's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

Tone nodded, none too enthusiastically. "Yeah."

The "refs" started rounding the teams up to start again.

Back on the field, Nolo stood next to his brother, facing the other team. He loved the center-field positions a lot better than the rest. They got the most running time, and the most ball time.

Soon enough, the black and white ball was headed his way, passed to him by Raphael. Nolo kicked it lightly in front of him as he ran-hard enough to get it moving, but light enough that it didn't go too far ahead. He was only a few yards away from the goal when it happened.

Suddenly, he was having a hard time breathing, like he couldn't get enough air. He knew he should stop…but, the goal…it was so close. Too close to ignore. He started gasping for breath, and he felt light headed. He kicked and the ball soared into the goal.

Not that he saw it. He collapsed as soon as his foot made contact with the ball. Someone called his name-he thought it was Tone-but he couldn't answer. The blue sky was becoming covered in black dots. He could faintly hear someone thudding to the ground next to him, and was vaguely aware of someone grabbing his hand.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Nolo tried to get control of his breathing again. But, it was so weird…it was like several large men were sitting on his chest, it was so hard to breathe. He began to cough violently, as he tried to take deep breaths. Soon, he was almost writhing on the ground, unable to control the spasms that suddenly

"Nolo?! NOLO! _Abra tus ojos_!"

He instantly obeyed, and was greeted with his brother looking down on him, brown eyes filled with concern.

Nolo weakly grabbed Tone's shirt, while also trying to push himself up into a sitting position. Several hands helped him move, and he was soon leaning against Tone while still gasping for air-which was made harder as he coughed. His chest began to hurt, and he closes his eyes again, this time with tears rolling down his cheeks. Someone yelled for a doctor, but he didn't know if anyone was actually going for one.

Nolo couldn't get his breathing back to normal and was beginning to panic. He clung to his brother, not quite knowing how he got the strength to do even that. Again he coughed, and felt as if he was coughing up his insides.

"_Tranquilo_, _tranquilo_," Tone was whispering into his ear.

Nolo focused on that. The quiet word being repeated over and over.

Because of his position, Nolo could feel his brother's own breathing, and was soon mimicking that. In, out. In, out. In, out. As if by miracle, he stopped coughing, and was becoming controlled.

Soon, much to everyone's relief, he was breathing normally again. However, he was so exhausted from the ordeal, that he couldn't seem to move. Nolo could hear some of the kids mutter prayers of thanks, and he was quick to think his own.

Tone shifted his weight. "_Vienes, _Nolo. Let's try to stand."

Grasping his brother's hand, Nolo shakily stood to his feet. But, when Tone let go, he started to fall back down. He was simply too weak to stand on his own. He whimpered softly and mumbled an apology, but Tone brushed it off and picked him up.

"Are we gonna finish the game when you come back?" someone called.

"You can go on. "Susana! You're team captain!"

As he walked away, they could hear Susana picking out two more players from the extra kids around the field.

Wearily, as the game commenced once more, Nolo laid his head against Tone's body and closed his eyes. Because of his exhaustion, he was asleep in seconds.

The next thing he knew, his mother was gently waking him up, telling him that the doctor was there to see them. At first, he couldn't figure out why the man was at his home. And then the game came rushing back to his memory. Slowly, he sat up and faced the doctor.

The examination wasn't long, and it was mostly questions. After hearing the story from both Nolo's and Tone's perspectives, he concluded that the boy had asthma. Quite confused, Nolo asked what that was. The man chuckled some and answered. "What happened on the field is asthma."

"Does that mean he can't play games with the other children, anymore?" his mother asked worriedly. She knew how much he loved the games, and couldn't bear the thought of keeping them from Nolo.

"No, not at all." The doctor smiled. "If he gets an inhaler, he will be able to run around and play football with all the others."

"Is that expensive?" she asked nervously.

"No. There's actually a clinic not far from here that can give you one for free."

The agitated mother nodded, looking tenderly Nolo, who was dropping back off to sleep.

Nolo had been quietly watching the doctor and his mother converse. The shadows on the wall were outlined by orange. It was late in the day, and would soon be night. He heard his mother say something to Tone right before he fell back to sleep.

The next time he woke, Tone was just coming into the room. Seeing his younger brother awake, he smiled brightly. "_Feliz Navidad, _Nolo."

Nolo blinked. He quickly looked up at the window, and saw that it was morning. He sat up, but that was about all he could do. That asthma attack, since it was so violent, had left him quite tired and weak.

"Come, _hermano._ Do you think you can hit the piñata today?" Tone asked as he sat down, giving Nolo a side hug.

Nolo leaned into him. "No. I'm too tired. I don't think I'd be able to walk there."

Tone just nodded.

"So," Nolo began, looking up. "What did Mom want you to do, last night?"

"Hm? Oh, she sent me to the clinic. To get," he grabbed a small object from the table a few feet away. "this."

Nolo stared curiously at the small object. "What does it do?"

Tone laughed. "It's an inhaler." He quickly explained to Nolo how it worked.

"Alright then," Tone said after he finished. "Do you think you can walk to the piñata now?"

Sadly, Nolo shook his head.

"Well then, I suppose I'll have to carry you there." With that, he quickly crouched in front of his little brother.

Obediently, Nolo climbed onto Tone's back, and was carried to another room.

There, hanging from the ceiling, was the paper mache burro, and Nolo laughed happily as he picked up the stick, and started swinging.

* * *

_Que_-What

_Bueno_-Good

_Abra tus ojos_-Open your eyes

_Tranquilo_-Calm

_Vienes_-Come

_Feliz Navidad_- Merry Christmas

_Hermano_-brother

**You can't tell...but, I'm screaming and laughing because I can finally get back to my other stories. Please, review, and I will know it's been worth my while. -Jimmy**


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